


XXV

by Watergirl1968



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NSFW, Rivarmin Fest, Sexual Content, future!canon, rivarmin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4584084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl1968/pseuds/Watergirl1968
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Get busy livin'....or get busy dyin'" ~ Morgan Freeman, Shawshank Redemption.</p><p>Armin Arlert undergoes a rite of passage on his twenty-fifth birthday, and reflects on the gradual unfolding of his heart. </p><p>A sweet one-shot for all your Rivarmin needs!</p>
            </blockquote>





	XXV

Sergeant Connie Springer thumped the bottle down onto the wooden table in the mens' barracks.

"Here y'are!"

Marshal Armin Arlert's beryl eyes flicked from the bottle to the face of his friend, still mischievous at twenty-five years of age.

"That's not from the quartermaster's," the blond Marshal's voice was soft, it's tone unironic. "Where'd you get it?"

Sergeant Springer placed his hands palms-down on the table and leaned forward, arching one spidery eyebrow.

"You're gonna need it… _sir!_ " he grinned.

Armin swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing softly in his pale throat. He uncorked the bottle. Moonshine. From Sasha's still, hidden in the bush. He took a swig, the roughly-concocted liquor scalding on it's way down. "Walls balls!"

Armin Arlert sat at the table, bared to the waist, his long, flaxen hair braided into a loose queue. He was a delicately-built man, but beautifully formed.

He glanced around the table at his squad mates: Mikasa Ackerman, Connie Springer, Sasha Blaus.

Jean Kirschstein leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. "You want me to hold him down?" the large Lieutenant offered.

"Nah," Sasha piped up. "No need for that. Armin, you ready?"

The small, lush mouth was set in a tight line. "Mikasa, you do it. Will you do it? Nice and clean. And I know you won't hesitate."

His lifelong friend stepped forward, her serene presence anchoring the small gathering. She nodded.

Armin took another long pull on the liquor bottle.

Mikasa Ackerman slowly unsheathed her blade. Reverently, she placed in onto the table in front of Armin, bowing her head a little.

Taking a clean cloth, she poured some of the liquor onto it and ran the cloth up and down the blade.

Armin allowed his mind to wander; back to a field of Shiganshina bluebells, rippling in the summer sunshine. How young they had been, and how tender. _Forever, we. Forever, three…._

He could never remain in that memory for too long, or the world would start to swim and his throat to close.

He raised his head, wisps of gold falling free.

Commander Levi Ackerman stood in the doorway of the barracks, his wiry figure stark against the hard light of the winter afternoon.

Armin regarded his superior in wordless communion; blue eyes welling, threatening to spill. A small, almost imperceptible shake of Levi's head.

_Don't cry._

The flat calm of Mikasa's voice: "Stay still."

Armin exhaled deeply, slowly.

Mikasa lifted the blade and with it's tip, made a shallow, exacting cut along Armin's bicep.

It hurt, but not as badly as the memories that scraped at his soul…

"Okay?" Mikasa asked him.

"Never better!" Armin gritted his teeth.

Quickly, Mikasa transected the first cut, with another. Blood welled, berry-pure. 

Armin shut his eyes.

Jean glanced backward, finally noticing Levi.

"Oh! Sir!" he straightened, saluting.

Connie looked around. "Eh? Commander on deck! Sir!" The other soldiers rose, scraping back their chairs.

Levi Ackerman held up a hand.

"At ease," he said quietly to all that remained of the 104th Trainee Corps. And then to his cousin, dark head bent to her task: "Nice and clean, Mikasa. This is an honorific."

" _Hai,_ " She responded softly.

"Won't ever forget the day I got mine!" Connie declared, patting his arm proudly. "Twenty-five years old!"

"You've got 'LIV' scratched into your arm," Jean chortled. "not XXV!"

Connie snorted, "No! It's a fine mark! Sasha put it there with her blade!"

"It says LIV!" Jean teased.

"What's wrong with LIV?" Sasha contested, "Helluva lot better 'n DIE, ain't it?"

Armin inhaled and exhaled. Sweat and horse and cedar boards. The incision Mikasa was making burned like a tiny sun tracking across his flesh. Never one given to self-congratulation, Armin welcomed the pain; scant payback for the jester's luck that had kept him alive while death took his friends.

_Eren is not dead, we would know. I would know. Mikasa had repeated the mantra over and over._

_No, Armin had thought. Eren is worse than dead. Wandering in the wild, unable to shift back. And he hasn't been sighted for a handful of years._

_It was nearly too much to bear._

___________

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

Levi had wanted to track Eren, alone. He was, after all, custodian of the remaining vials of titan serum. Perhaps one of them would restore Eren. Armin had insisted on coming, believing that he might be able to bring Eren back through sheer force of will.

During these forays, Levi set a relentless pace; exhaustion and grief often conspired to drive Armin to his breaking point. Alone but for Levi and the horses, the young soldier spent many nights curled inside his sleep sack, loathing himself for being unable to stifle the sobs that wracked his tired body.

He hadn't wanted Levi Ackerman anywhere near him at such times. The humiliation was too much to bear. And then, one autumn night under a low-slung orange moon, Armin had awakened to find Levi sitting by his side. Dangling from his compact hand, a gemstone Commander's bolo.

Armin had sat up wordlessly, stunned by the shine of tears on the grim face of his stoic Commander.

"Our mistakes," Levi's words, low and thick, "have not made us subhuman."

"S-sir?"

"I'm watching you…watching your skin become sallow...the twitch in your forehead and the tremor in your hands."

"I'm fine. I don't want fuss. I'm sorry."

"I've eschewed intimacy for most of my life. I've shown an open distain for non-essentials, for frivolty, for joy."

"You've stuck to the task at hand, sir."

"No, Armin. I've hidden in the task at hand. A score of people have died without ever knowing that I loved them. And that was incredible arrogance on my part; refusing to share myself because I couldn't stand to offer something imperfect."

Armin blinked.

"If you carry on starving yourself, in every way, you will unravel. And you will lose your mind. Ours is not a life any sane person would choose; but there it is. If it helps you…please share with me."

And Levi had then taken Armin to bed, and they'd wept together, whispering memories of ghost heroes into the darkness until they'd finally slept.

__________

The first time that Armin had felt any solace during that period of his life had been in Levi's bed. He'd been belly-down on white muslin sheets, knees spread, back arched and heart pounding, coupling with his dark-haired lover. 

Levi had both of Armin's wrists in the bruising grip of one hand; a stark contrast to the soft, open-mouthed kisses he applied to the back of Armin's damp neck, and the easy, languid fucking that the boy was getting. Soft pillow-talk from Levi was rare and sensual, and the precision of Levi's attention to his pleasure had shredded the last of Armin's composure.

"There?" Levi asked him, his erection pressing sweetly against the nerve inside his body that made Armin ache.

"I….uhhhnnn.."

Levi Ackerman rolled his hips.

"Where is the sweetest spot? There?"

Armin whined, pressing back and up against Levi's groin.

"Yes," a whisper, like splinters, against the immaculate pillow.

"Yes. And I already knew that. I _know_ ," Levi murmured, rocking, "that it's just _here_ , and you like it _just like this_ …"

Armin shuddered, bucking. 

"I…I might mess the bed up I might…I…." Armin squirmed, crying out as Levi's hand slid beneath his body, fingers closing around the pretty, curved cock.

"Messy," sobbed Armin.

"Come," whispered Levi, strong fingers tugging softly at the aching flesh.

Serenity had finally come to Armin in the afterglow of their joining. Some soft warmth had bloomed, rushing and flowing beneath Armin's skin, sublime and comforting. It was the closest thing to peace he'd experienced in years.

He'd turned to look at Levi; a man who, after seasons of punishing himself had opened the door to intimacy, just a crack.

"I don't know if I love you," the young soldier had ventured, "but I no longer see love as a weakness."

__________

"Yes," Mikasa nodded, satisfied with her handiwork. 

Armin opened one eye. Levi had gone. Instead, his brother-in-arms, Jean Kirschstein stood over him, a rag soaked in herren dye clutched in his hand.

"I'm alive, because of you," Jean said, all traces of derision having left his features.

"Twenty-five, old man. Happy birthday, Armin!" And he pressed the dye-soaked cloth to the cuts Mikasa had incised.

Armin howled. He called Jean Kirschstein every name he could think of, and Armin knew some alarming and unsanitary terms for human genitalia. 

Jean laughed loudly and wept at the same time.

After some moments, he removed the cloth. Dyed mahogany brown, and oozing droplets of bright blood, were the numerals XXV.

A rare honour. It was a brand given to any combat soldier that lived to see their twenty-fifth birthday. Armin Arlert was twenty-five years old.

A whoop went up in the barracks then; Armin's seasoned companions embraced him, and the younger soldiers came forward to admire the brand and to share in the celebration. Armin glanced toward the doorway. Levi Ackerman had disappeared.

__________

Levi watches his lover's abdomen rise and fall, rise and fall…the merest dusting of blond hair streaks down the centre of Armin's chest, trickling to a thin ribbon below his navel, fanning like spun fleece above the damp pink skin of the young man's satisfied sex.

Levi observes his own hand, worn and olive, gliding down the pale thigh. Armin needs release and affection often now; the citrusy musk of satiation calming the spinning wheels of a brilliant mind that pain has made ice-brittle. Fragile.

"Show me," Armin asks softly.

"You've seen it a hundred times."

"Yes, but it's different now."

Levi rolls a little, exposing his right shoulder blade to the cool air.

Armin's fingers trace the silver-brown scar on Levi's shoulder. XXV.

"Petra Ral inscribed it," Levi says tightly. He's never shared that with anyone; no one remains alive who would know it. Except for...

"Not Hanji?"

Levi barks a laugh. "No! Are you insane, Armin?"

XXV. 

"It isn't really an honorific, is it?" Armin asks his older lover quietly.

"No." Levi turns to look his fellow soldier in the eyes, "It's an imperative to continue."

 


End file.
